Title: Cockles Series: How to Marry a Millionaire Summary: Malone winks at Dick. "Let me be your sugar daddy for a minute, kiddo." Dick is entirely too well-dressed for the dive he walks into, but he doesn't give a shit. Let them stare at him, think he's some Mafia enforcer or whatever. At least if they think he's that kind of dangerous, they won't mess with him, and he'll live through this little adventure. Even the thought of being jumped is enough to make his blood race. Just what he came in here for -- excitement. Probably no one will figure out that he's the heir to however many million bucks Bruce has these days, so he's safe enough. All the regulars are keeping their distance as he steps up to the bar and orders a rum and coke. Well -- if this place doesn't work out, there are others. He finds a seat at a table where he can watch the door, and watch the people -- poor, dirty, corrupt. No one he knows. No one he wants to know. Bruce may think it's nice to play the philanthropist on occasion, but even he doesn't get this up close and personal with the man on the street. "What's a kid like you doing in a place like this?" somebody asks him in the harshest Jersey accent he's had the displeasure to hear in months. A guy comes over -- his clothes almost as hideous as his voice -- and leans on his table. "Sight-seeing," Dick says, putting a hand on his wallet. The guy grins under his ratty mustache. "Sure you are, kid. Slumming is more like it. Hey --" he leans in far, far too close. There's something dangling at the corner of his mouth. A toothpick, maybe. "Don't I know you?" Dick stares at him. "I don't think so. I'd remember that blazer of yours." The guy thumps him hard on the shoulder. "Ain't you a kidder. No -- really." He pulls up a stool, entirely uninvited. "You look familiar." "I can't imagine why." Dick folds his arms. "Hey -- I seen you on the news a coupla times. In the papers." The man waves his finger at Dick. "You're -- you're that kid Bruce Wayne adopted, ain't you." The legacy has to follow him even here. Dick sighs. "Maybe." "No maybe about it." The man laughs, then coughs like a life-long smoker. Strange; he doesn't smell like cigarettes. "What's your name -- Grayson. Something Grayson." Publicity is not at all to Dick's taste, but perhaps something more than annoyance will come of this. "Fine. Yes. Dick Grayson. And you are?" "Matches Malone." He reaches up to tip a hat he's not wearing. "Well, damn, kid. What the hell are you doing all the way down here? You fall off the tower?" Dick rolls his eyes. "Sometimes I need a change of scenery. That's all." "Uh-huh. Sure. Sure, that's it." Malone gives him a measuring look. "All the way down here dressed like that. Looks like you want to get jumped, kid. Didn't Wayne teach you not to dress like that?" "He has nothing to do with this." Dick sips his drink. "Aw. He don't keep tabs on you anymore?" Malone tips his chair back. "Wouldn't think he'd let a pretty thing like you out of his sight, but I guess maybe you're too old for him." Dick coughs. "What the hell do you mean?" "Easy, kiddo." Malone reaches over and actually thumps his shoulder. "You gotta know how, you know, shady the whole arrangement looks to your average Joe Q. Public, that's all." "That's not funny." Dick glowers at him. "And it's not like that." "'course it's not." And Malone, damn him, doesn't believe it. He pats Dick's hand. "No playboy billionaire ever took advantage of a pretty boy. No sir." Dick weighs his options. He can abandon the last sips of his drink and leave in a huff. He can shout Malone down, whatever good that will do. Or he can listen and laugh at how ridiculous it all is. He taps his fingers on the side of his glass, and Malone winks at him. "Let me be your sugar daddy for a minute, kiddo." He goes to the bar. It would be a great moment for Dick to get the hell away, but he just leans back in his chair and watches the bouncer card someone. Malone turns his back -- like he's expecting Dick to run away, maybe, or expecting him to stay. When he comes back with a drink in each hand, he grins. It doesn't make him any more handsome.  "Hey there." Dick takes what Malone offers and sips it. It's not the same. Stronger. Harsher. "Thanks." "No problem." He sits down again and leans in, all confidential. "So you're not admitting to anything, huh?" Dick wrinkles his nose. "Is this some kind of a thing with you?" "Nah. Nah, not at all. Just -- it's one of them things that everybody knows, you know, and it'd be damn funny if it was real." Dick snorts. "It's not." "Aw. You sure?" He takes another sip of the new drink, whatever it is. "Yes." Malone shakes his head. "Too bad. I mean -- not for you, baby, but there are some damn good stories going around." Dick narrows his eyes, trying to figure out what Malone's crooked smile is supposed to mean. "Such as?" "Aw, you know." He turns his head, waving a hand. "Amazingly enough, nobody ever shares this kind of rumor with me." Dick smiles, a little, and watches Malone's eyes widen. "I think they think I already know." "C'mon, kiddo --" Malone shakes his head. "Nothin' you should hear, really." "No, no." Dick raises his glass in a kind of salute. "I'm calm. Tell me." Malone frowns and looks away. "You sure?" "Yes." Dick smiles, making it as knowing as he can. "Okay, okay." Malone shakes his head. "Well -- everybody's heard about you, you know, so there're all these wacko theories about how Wayne keeps stuff quiet, if you catch my meaning." "Right." "Like the annual cops' ball, and all that." Dick blinks. "What's that got to do with me?" Malone gives him a worried frown and looks at the table. "Oh, you know. Dirty cops. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours, excepting not exactly backs, and not exactly scratching. Wayne's friends with the old Commissioner. You know." It takes a moment. And then Dick laughs. "Yuck. No. No, that's not true." "Didn't figure." Malone shrugs. "Anyway. Stories like that." "But nobody would believe that," Dick protests. "Gordon's been married enough times. He's got kids." "Wayne dates all sorts of ladies, don't he?" Malone eyes him. "You probably do too. Doesn't stop anybody from stuff on the side." Dick grins, waving a hand, and leans forward so Malone doesn't have to raise his voice. "That can't be the only story out there." "It's bad enough." Malone shakes his head. "Oh, come on." Dick reaches over and touches his shoulder, trying to ignore the nasty, nubbly texture of his jacket. "I want to know, and nobody else is going to tell me this stuff." "And it does sorta get worse," Malone says, glancing at him over his sunglasses. "Like -- I guess it's not a rumor so much as a joke. Not a funny joke," he adds defensively. "Just -- like -- how do you know you've got a business deal with Wayne Enterprises? When the cute kid shows up on your doorstep naked. That sort of thing." "That's not even worth repeating once." Dick shakes his head. "You're taming this stuff down for me, aren't you." He grins at Malone. "You don't have to." "You shouldn't have to hear this." Malone shrugs. "No, no. Give it to me straight. C'mon." Malone sighs. "You sure you won't get mad?" "Did you think it all up?" "No!" Malone holds up his hands. "Not me!" "Then I won't get mad." "Well." Malone rubs his nose. "There are bookies out there -- not that I'm betting with them, you know -- who'll give you odds on how old the next one's going to be." Dick blinks. "The next what?" "The next kid Wayne takes in. 'cause there was you, right, and then you -- well, they'd say you got too old for him, so he replaced you." Malone looks up at him, but he's not looking over the glasses. Dick can't read him. "And then that kid died, right, so Wayne's kind of at loose ends. Either he's gotta start actually paying attention to the ladies, or he needs some new little boy, or he's finally getting over the kid thing." Dick takes a larger sip of his drink than he means to and it burns his throat. When he manages to say, "People say that kind of shit?" it comes out hoarse. Malone laughs and thumps his back again. "Sure they do, kid. And worse than that." "Yeah?" "Yeah. Stuff like -- like whether Wayne tells you what's going on, what kinda stuff he expects from you right off, or whether he buys you an ice cream factory first." Dick shakes his head. "That's -- no. No way." "Sure." Malone pats his hand. For all his hair is greasy, his skin doesn't feel that terrible. "How old were you, anyway, when he adopted you?" "Twenty-three." Dick laughs at Malone's shocked expression. "No, really. Bet you can get some drinks off of that one." "Bet I can, if anybody believes me. No -- but -- really, when'd he take you in?" Dick shrugs. "I was eight." Malone whistles softly. "So. Did he at least wait a while?" The raconteur style is gone, now. Dick could probably get Malone to bring it back -- or he can play into it. None of this is real, anyway. He already said that. "Oh, a while, yeah." Malone chokes on his drink and coughs. "Kid --" Dick grins at him. "You asked." "I thought you said --" "I said I never did anything with the cops." Dick shrugs. "And that's true, anyway." Malone takes off his glasses to stare at Dick. "You're serious. You're -- you're serious. You're -- like that -- with Wayne?" That lie won't come, even to this nobody in this nowhere place. Dick shakes his head. "No. No, I'm not." He smirks. "But mostly? He never asked." "Jesus." Malone leans back in his chair. "Why not?" "Do I know?" Dick shrugs, trying not to let this guy anything. He doesn't care. He really doesn't. "Because of all the shit you said, probably. Because it might make people think all that shit was true." Malone shakes his head. "They think it anyway." "Probably, yeah. Well -- whatever." Dick has more of whatever the hell the drink is Malone brought him. "Fuck Wayne anyway." Malone laughs. "Yeah. Something like that." He checks his watch. "I gotta get out of here. Nice to meet you -- and you be careful." He pats Dick's shoulder too familiarly. "This is no place for pretty boys, let alone pretty boys with money in their pockets." He gets up. "I'll keep that in mind." Dick leans back in his chair. "Thanks for the gossip, anyway." "Good luck with Wayne." Dick snorts. "Thanks. I'm going to need it." Mussels
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